


My Son

by InkStainedHands1177



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6169987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainedHands1177/pseuds/InkStainedHands1177
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil once more attempted to flee from the cold, encroaching grip of the past. His future was more important to him. His son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Son

My Son

Thranduil gazed at the empty halls surrounding him. From his high pedestal, he could see the lower floors of his cavern palace. He frowned. Raising his hand, he signaled an Elf to come to him.

The servant materialized at his side with the grace and silence only an Elf could have. “My lord?”

“Where is my son?”

“From the latest I have heard, he is riding with the former Captain of the Guard’s daughter, Tauriel.”

Thranduil frowned. “Tauriel…” He grimaced. “Leave me.” The Elf bowed and left his king.

Thranduil stood and moved quickly from his throne room. He entered his own chambers quietly and shed his bulky outer robe and long tunic. Clothed only in his shorter tunic, pants, boots, and belt, he slipped on a simple, silver, riding cloak and called for his horse to be saddled.

His orders were quickly obeyed. As he walked down the hall, he stopped and gazed upon the statue of his late Queen. The statue was so life like, that in the fading of the light, it looked almost real. He turned away.

Perhaps he was too formal with Legolas in regards to the young Elf’s mother? Thranduil didn’t know.

He moved quickly down the halls, eager to escape the long shadow of the past. However, in his heart, Thranduil knew that he would never truly escape his wife’s memory. It was a futile effort.

 _How like the Elves, to actively take part in futile efforts._ Thranduil’s lips twisted into a faint grimacing smile. His wife had never been an average Elf. She was radical, an activist who never knew when to cease her audacious behavior and conform to the societal norms.

Thranduil had a ghost of a smile form on his lips as he silently recounted the lectures his father had given him about marrying such an Elf. _‘A thousand years we have live as we have and a thousand years we will continue to live as such! Change is for those who live and die too quickly! This Elf is not the right Elf to be your Queen, Thranduil.’_

But she had been the right one. She had given him Legolas. That had been enough. She had given him a son, a rarity among Elves. Offspring was not unheard of, but it was rare enough to merit some notice. That had been the happiest and proudest moment of Thranduil’s life. He walked briskly to the stables. The Elves bowed to him as he entered. Nodding to them briefly, he mounted his horse and raced down the long bridge.

Cassien had said that Legolas was riding near the old castle. The castle that his father used to have but was now overrun with spiders, and dark magic. _I never raised the boy to be foolish. How the Valar did he inherit such a dangerous trait?_

Thranduil shook his head, his eyes gaining a furious, stony glint. No doubt it was that Tauriel who tempted his son to disobey his father’s orders.

“No doubt…” Thranduil hissed and doubled his horse’s pace. He reached the castle quickly and dismounted. Signaling his horse to stay silent and close, he walked silently into the ruined castle.

He remembered playing with his mother in this courtyard. He could hear her laughter again, as if she were doing it then. Thranduil suppressed a sigh. He looked quickly around. All the roofs, ceilings, and most of the walls were gone. The roots of the trees were breaking down the stones that had once been strong and fearsome against attack. Thranduil spared one moment to close his eyes and remember the sound of the soldiers’ steps clapping against the stones as the guards changed.

He walked on the fallen leaves and remember the day when an ambush from the growing armies of Sauron attacked his home. Thranduil shuddered.

He would never let his son see such darkness. Never. He would never allow Legolas to see the evil he was forced to see. Sauron was gone. Done. Maiar, Mairon, Annatar, Sauron, the creature went by many names. No matter what name, the being had been destroyed. Without his source of power, Sauron was nothing.

Thranduil growled and looked around quickly. He disliked looking back to the past. Moving swiftly into the halls, he saw two horses. One was Tauriel’s and the other was his son’s. He signaled the horses, who were trained to recognize and obey the King of Woodland Realm, to stay with his own horse, Angalard. Thranduil softly stepped on the rotting wooden stairs up to the second level of his former home.

He heard voices.

“This is where your father grew up? I can envision the majesty of this castle. Surely, the former king, Oropher didn’t have to abandon it?”

“My father speaks little of his past. I hardly know anything at all about my grandfather, except what one learns in historical accounts.” Legolas’ voice was slightly bitter. “I don’t know what to think about my father. He holds me at arms length and yet claims that I am his pride and joy.”

“Perhaps, he simply does not know how to show his love? It is hard for some, so I’ve heard.”

“Not hard for me.” Legolas’ voice was soft, beckoning.

Tauriel hesitated before speaking. “I can see that. You continuously seek your father’s affection. I am envious. You still _have_ a father. My own father died upon the plains of Gorgoroth.”

Legolas sighed. “I know. I am sorry for you. It is hard to look away from the past, when our future seems so…”

“Uneventful?”

“Yes.” Thranduil could hear a smile in his son’s voice. He frowned and made his appearance known.

“Tell me, why did you think it wise to go into the forest that was infested by black magic and creatures that were created by such magic?” He stared at his son.

Legolas was startled. “Father…”

Thranduil turned his piercing gaze upon Tauriel. “Tell me, child, what reasons do you have to come here?”

“We were merely curious about the past, Father. That’s all. Don’t look at Tauriel that way. It was my idea!”

Thranduil stared at his son. His face was set in stone. “So it seems that my lessons in common sense and logic were lost on you?”

Legolas raised his chin defiantly. “No. I learned.”

“You learned deceit.” His gaze slid over to Tauriel. “I wonder where from.”

Legolas stiffened. “From-”

“We apologize for disobeying your direct wishes, my King. Please, I beg your forgiveness and can honestly assure you that this will not happen again.” Tauriel quickly interrupted the young prince’s hot retort.

Thranduil nodded. “Very well. Mount your horses and leave this place. Go.” Legolas stiffly passed his father. The two young Elves, young in comparison to Thranduil, got on their horses and rode away. Legolas looked back and stared at his father with a mixture on anger and confusion. Why was Thranduil staying behind?

Thranduil watched from the floor above, as they left the courtyard and vanished. He stared directly downwards at the leaf covered courtyard and the dry, cracked pond where he used to feed the fish with his mother and grandmother. There was suppose to be a stone wall blocking his view of the courtyard, plus a whole other floor that used to be above him. He let out a ragged sigh, for once, showing his exhaustion and weariness.

Turning sharply, he strode deeper into the former palace. He knew exactly where everything was, but it was difficult to get to his destination. Nature had taken over her own again and was very tenacious in her goals.

Thranduil quickly, and lightly, ran down the steps of the rotting, wooden stairs. He reached the ground floor, but instead of taking a right toward the courtyard, he went straight.

He headed to the stone steps that were hidden by encroaching vines. The darkness that engulfed the cold, stone stairs, was intimidating, but Thranduil never faltered his step.

There was a ring of steel that could be heard, as he drew his sword and impaled a spider rearing to attack him. He swiftly sliced three legs off another one and stabbed a third in the head. He whirled and sliced the abdomen of the fourth spider wide open.

Thranduil didn’t pause or hesitate in his brisk walk while he dispatched four more spiders. He left a wake of corpses, spiders with their legs curled inward as if automatically attempting to protect their vulnerability even as they were dying.

 _All evil things die belly up._ Thranduil’s nose wrinkled in disgust. He didn’t sheath his sword but continued walking down the barely lit stone hall. His eyes were keen, and his memory was sharp. He had no issue finding his destination.

The wooden door was shattered, barely hanging on the iron hinges. Thranduil passed silently through the splintered doorway and stepped inside the cold room. He looked around, his eyes missing nothing.

True to his memory, the room was completely bare. Empty. A simple, square room. The walls were fully intact, for now.

Thranduil stepped further into the room and stopped just shy of the center. He stared at the barely discernable carvings on the stone blocks at his feet.

A single name was written in the middle of a circle of carved vines and leaves. The branches in the stone were intertwining. Thranduil crouched and lightly touched his fingers against the cuts in the cold stone.

“Endriel…” His voice echoed through the silent chamber. His heart was as empty as the room.

Rising quickly, he swiftly moved from the chamber and quickly ascended the stairs. He left, mounting his horse, and violently wheeling the steed away. Urging Angalard to run faster, Thranduil once more attempted to flee from the cold, encroaching grip of the past.

His future was more important to him.

His son.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note, this was suppose to be mysterious and vague. I was framing the entire story on Thranduil who is the paragon of mystery.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this. : )
> 
> Ink…


End file.
